“......Eohwa....”
“Dum dum.”
“......Dum, dum?”
Kang Ichae stammered like a foreigner who couldn’t understand an idiom.
Come to think of it, I remembered that he was American and was just about to kindly explain—
“—Duuuuuuuuung~~Jaaaang~~~!!”
From afar, a running elephant came charging as if dribbling an invisible basketball in the air, then slammed down a dunk right onto Kang Ichae’s shoulders.
I peeled Jung Dajun off the staggering Kang Ichae and stretched out his cheek.
“You’ll get hurt, you brat.”
“Ta-da! How was my ultimate personal skill?! Didn’t it feel like halftime? Should I use it when I appear on the next self-content show?!”
“It’s fucking lame.”
“.......”
Do boys around this age always need so much attention?
By twenty-five, shouldn’t they at least calm down a little....
‘No, thinking like that just means I really need to pull myself together.’
“Hmph.”
Anyway, Jung Dajun, who puffed his cheeks and brushed off his knees, looked more energetic than usual. Maybe he was happy to see the rapper after so long; he sat on Kang Ichae’s suitcase and chattered endlessly.
“Anyway, Itchae Itchae, it’s been sooo long! Was your flight okay? But listen to me. There was this event where you could win a script signed by senior Min Jiheon himself, right? So I wrote this crazy long story to the radio show! But guess what— I didn’t win!!”
“.......”
“So I wrote dozens more!!”
Wouldn’t that count as terrorism?
‘More importantly, couldn’t he just ask me instead?’
If I just said one word to Min Jiheon, it’d be over in ten seconds.
As I covered my ears from his shrill voice, the excited Dajun’s mouth was suddenly clamped shut by someone’s hand.
“Kang Ichae’s here?”
It was Daepaseong’s Trainee No.1 and No.2.
“Ichae! It’s so good to see you again.”
“Did you come straight here?”
Everyone patted Ichae’s back, pulled his suitcase along, and entered the studio.
He threw me a brief glance, then followed after them.
Even inside the studio, Jung Dajun kept babbling about what kind of “radio-worthy” story he could submit next, but everyone just half-heartedly replied, “Just write about your elephant,” as they put down their bags.
Kim Sunghyun clapped his hands.
“Okay, some of us have schedules later, so let’s finish recording quickly.”
They’d gathered for the recording of the album’s side tracks.
Actually, the title track for the upcoming full album had been recorded long ago.
I’d been surviving off movie promotions and live appearances, but to secure stable recognition, a comeback was urgently needed.
The re-contract was done, the comeback schedule set— but there was one problem.
Kang Ichae had been insisting that one of the side tracks was bad and kept scrapping it, which delayed all the recordings in turn.
Normally, A&R staff and an engineer would join recording sessions, but since there was a chance he’d rewrite the whole thing again, we decided to test it ourselves first.
“Hmm.......”
As soon as we entered, Kang Ichae opened his laptop and tapped the spacebar half-heartedly. Kim Sunghyun pulled up a chair beside him and asked,
“How’s the track? Sounds fine to you?”
“..................Yeah.”
“...W-Why the pause before answering?”
Startled, Kim Sunghyun stared, while Kang Ichae muttered gloomily,
“......It’s depressing.”
“So that means it’s amazing!”
Everyone cheered innocently, but that only made Ichae look even gloomier.
‘It’s bound to be good anyway.’
From experience, whenever Kang Ichae poured 200% of his taste into a track, it came out sleek and flawless. When he brooded alone, it turned into a dark but incredible masterpiece.
He flatly pressed the spacebar.
“...Uh, just listen first.”
As soon as he played it, the studio fell silent—
and then a beat swirled out like crashing waves.
“......!”
...It’s good.
“If not this one, then the second.”
“Huh? There’s another one??”
“About five, actually.”
Kang Ichae began playing his self-composed tracks one after another.
Every time the group listened in tense silence, he played another.
“......It’s good.”
“R-Really good.”
The more they heard, the more stunned everyone became.
That signature heavy piano chord pounded against the chest, then the following string trio seeped in softly, never letting the tension go, driving forward with a relentless melody— intoxicating.
“...Did you ascend or something?”
It was insane. Why didn’t he like it?
Even Lim Hyunsu, that Lim Hyunsu, would’ve envied this level of talent.
Kang Ichae had already surpassed some kind of limit.
Even his random pieces contained organic unity within four minutes, and critics who’d heard the full album unanimously praised him as “a genius who’ll never appear again.”
“......This one?”
But Kang Ichae himself didn’t look pleased with the result.
He sighed, picked the third song as if resigned.
“...Well, let’s at least record it.”
As Kim Sunghyun headed in to record, Kang Ichae repeatedly hit the spacebar, directing with merciless precision.
“Why’s he so intense today?”
“Y-Yeah, seriously....”
And this wasn’t even the final recording.
The only one who managed to meet his brutal standards was Sung Jiwon.
When Jiwon went in and began recording, Ichae lowered his lashes and listened quietly; as soon as it ended, he said,
“You sound good, hyung.”
At his gesture, Sung Jiwon smiled gratefully and stepped out.
Then my turn came. I went inside, put on the black headphones— and saw Kang Ichae staring right at me from beyond the glass.
After finishing the first take as usual, I waited for his reaction. He leaned back so hard his chair screeched and rasped out,
“Again.”
...That didn’t sound good.
I pushed down the unease and started singing again, but Ichae kept frowning the whole time.
Something was clearly bothering him.
When our eyes met as I tried to read his mood, he said blankly,
“What are you doing? Do it again.”
“.......”
This bastard’s really on edge today....
He made me redo the recording fifteen times in a row.
My throat was shot; it felt like I couldn’t make another sound. I was dying.
‘Isn’t this just harassment?’
Clutching my aching throat, I stepped out, only to find him still tilting his head like something wasn’t right.
“...Weird. There’s something I want more from you, hyung... but it’s not coming out.”
‘So the song’s bad?’ he muttered, pressing his forehead and letting out a small sigh.
“Haa... Am I in a slump, maybe?”
“Oh, Itchae’s in a slump.”
“Whoa~ This week it came early.”
“.......”
But, shockingly, no one cared.
“Shall we head home now? Whew, good work today,” they said, standing up.
It was familiar.
He was going through “Slump No.24.”
Lately, his routine consisted of “begging for a video call every five minutes when in America” and “asking for a tight hug because he’s in a slump.”
“Wait. What’s with this reaction?!”
“Sorry. I’ve got a variety shoot, gotta go first.”
Even Kim Sunghyun, who used to panic whenever the foxy maknae whimpered pitifully, ignored him now. The real youngest just yawned.
“Itchae hyung, let us know when you’re done. We’re going biking along the Han River~.”
“Huh?”
Sung Jiwon blinked his big eyes.
“Dajun, didn’t you still not learn the choreography?”
“......Ack?! N-No!! I did!! I totally did!”
“Yeah?”
“Yup!”
“Hmm. Dajun’s grown up....”
Sung Jiwon smiled faintly.
“Considering you’re still terrible at lying.”
“......!!”
“The truth is, you just wanted to keep practicing, didn’t you?”
Kim Sunghyun, hand on the doorknob, turned back with a horrified face.
Meanwhile, Sung Jiwon grabbed the back of Dajun’s neck, dragging him away as the kid screamed, “Help! This is abuse! Someone please! Don’t avert your eyes, save meee!!!”
Everyone offered up the maknae as sacrifice, so before Jiwon could catch me, I decided to quietly make my escape.
“.......”
But Kang Ichae’s face didn’t look good.
I turned back, made a U-turn, and dropped down onto the couch corner.
“...Huh?”
“Hey.”
I did have a movie shoot scheduled, but Kang Ichae came first.
The look he’d given me earlier at the door, and his attitude during recording— both felt off.
“Are you having a hard time because of your slump?”
“......???”
My song vending machine being gloomy bothered me.
He tried to act indifferent, but as I’d seen with Lim Hyunsu, artists’ temperaments are sensitive; it’s not something you can just force through.
This felt more like an artist’s slump than the kind of burnout an office worker might get—
Honestly, I couldn’t relate. I’d never gone through one.
Besides, the thick notebook of practice notes beside him was proof enough of how hard he’d been working.
Still, because I genuinely cared, I asked again. He frowned.
“...Me? Hyung, did you just ask if I’m having a hard time because of my slump?”
“That’s right.”
“.......”
“...This brat looks like he’s seen a ghost.”
I folded my arms and stared at him, not planning to move until I got an answer. Kang Ichae scratched his head awkwardly.
“Well... yeah, kind of.”
“.......”
“But it’ll pass.”
He said it indifferently, tossed a few files straight into the trash bin, deleted them, then spun his chair around to face me.
“Don’t worry. If it gets too hard, I won’t just brood alone — I’ll tell the members.”
And he smiled faintly.
“You know I trust our members, right?”
...Yeah, I do.
Feeling oddly proud, I could tell the corner of my mouth had lifted even without a mirror. My expression slipped, so I bent down, grabbed a candy, and flicked it toward him.
“Getting old? You’ve gotten mature.”
“Thanks to someone, I had to grow up fast.”
“.......”
“Yeah, that was aimed to make you feel guilty.”
He never misses a chance for a comeback.
But since I didn’t particularly mind, I let it slide. He unwrapped the candy, popped it into his mouth, and flopped onto the four-seater couch.
“So, what about you, hyung?”
“Hm?”
“Don’t you have something you wanted to say?”
Me?
He glanced at me teasingly, crunching the candy loudly between his teeth.
“You’ve been hanging around since earlier. Need something?”
“No.”
“.........Huh?”
I really didn’t.
Kang Ichae always handled his own business flawlessly.
I’d only dropped by because I thought he might be having a rough time with that slump.
He frowned, as if he couldn’t understand.
“Really nothing?”
“Are your ears blocked?”
No reason to repeat myself, so I ignored him.
I was actually searching for a nearby restaurant on my phone, thinking maybe we could grab something before my schedule.
I was craving bean sprout soup, but for today, I figured I’d treat him to Italian — his favorite.
“...Whoa.”
“.......”
“Seo Hojin was right....”
Seo Hojin?
Why was his name coming up here?
I frowned, and Ichae scratched his head awkwardly.
“...Uh, well. I talked to Hojin the other day.”
“And?”
“...He said you introduced him to someone as your younger brother.”
Ah.
That did happen.
It was right before I made him build the LEGO set — we’d gone out to eat together.
When we were paying, the shop owner had asked,
“Oh... Ah! Family member?”
In the past, I would’ve immediately given Hojin the look to get lost.
Back in my notorious PD days, I hated introducing him as my brother. I’d rather keep that private than have people gossip about “a celebrity’s family.”
But that time, Hojin kept his mouth shut and pretended not to know me.
After a short silence, he smiled and nodded.
“Yes, my brother.”
Even when we left through the door toward the underground parking lot, he didn’t bring it up, so I assumed it hadn’t meant much to him.
‘And you’re hung up on that?’
“He said... you’ve mellowed out.”
He mumbled hesitantly.
“After thinking about it, I figured maybe something happened to you, or maybe... not....”
So that’s why he’d been watching me earlier, checking if I was hiding something?
Since last winter he’d been friendlier, even acting cute with the members whenever he breathed — I thought he was fine.
Realizing that made me click my tongue, feeling a bit sorry for him.
“Time passes, that’s all.”
And then I added,
“And I’ve always cared about you.”
Even my gentle delinquent’s moods.
That made Kang Ichae widen his eyes.
“...Is this really Hoyun hyung talking?”
“Yeah, your damn cool hyung.”
Good, found the restaurant.
Kim Sunghyun had a schedule, so... maybe I’d grab Dajun and Jiwon from the practice room on the way out and feed them too.
“Anyway, if it gets too rough, I’ll send you abroad. Go bust your ass off in California.”
“Wow, our team is so warmhearted....”
Kang Ichae rubbed his forehead like his soul had left his body, then laughed silently.
He nodded slightly.
‘Looks like his mood’s better now.’
Seeing him smile somehow felt refreshing, and I found myself staring at him like I was taking him apart piece by piece.
‘...He’s definitely mellowed out compared to before.’
Sometimes, he even looked like that kid from years ago.
Maybe since winter ended and the grudges {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} lifted, he’d gotten so soft and playful that he reminded me of the little boy who used to wait for me after school at the playground, violin case on his back.
That’s why it was hard to be cold toward him anymore.
I didn’t underestimate him, but realizing how much burden I’d dumped on him made me uncomfortable.
I shrugged lightly and said,
“Don’t worry. You’re already doing plenty.”
And to loosen the atmosphere a bit, I added a joke.
“If you screw up, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ll die or worse, right?”
“...What?”
“...Huh?”
“.......”
“.......”
A heavy silence fell over the studio.
My eyebrow twitched.
‘It was a joke, though?’
It’s just a saying — “What’s worse than dying?”
Had he forgotten Korean after living in the U.S. too long— wait. Something suddenly clicked.
‘...Hold on. Did this guy take it literally?’
Because, technically, failure did mean death.
Since the start of Eternal Idol Tycoon, I’d depended on Kang Ichae’s help countless times.
I couldn’t have done any of it without him, and he knew it too.
Whenever those absurdly difficult quests appeared, the confidence that I’d succeed always came from his presence.
But I’d never told him about failure.
That if I failed, I’d die.
‘I thought he might have guessed, though.’
“You’ll die if you fail,”
—that’s what he’d said that day, when snow was pouring down in Prague.
My mind started spinning fast.
When Kang Ichae saw the quest window, what was the listed consequence of failure again?
There was a warning phrase, wasn’t there? “Physical penalty leading to death.” It was clearly written. So he must’ve recognized it, right?
I remembered his eyes that night under the orange streetlight.
“I took it as meaning the new game you started was too hard even for you to handle. It’s safe, right?”
“Ask something else first.”
—Yeah. That settled it.
‘He didn’t know.’
Because when he’d asked “Is it safe?”, I’d dodged the question instead of answering.
Now, the Kang Ichae in front of me spoke, very slowly.
“...If you fail,”
Painfully slowly.
“......you die.”
I stayed silent too long.
His reaction to my offhand joke had thrown me, and I was replaying it in my head.
So this was...
“...Well, I guess that saying exists for a reason.”
A mistake.
“What’s worse than dying, right?”
Still, I could smooth this over.
Kang Ichae was staring at me wide-eyed, but I kept a straight face.
I shrugged and began calmly gathering my things.
“Anyway, you’re all eating lunch together later, right? I’ll just drop by the planning depart—...”
“Ha.”
Then he suddenly laughed.
“...Ha ha.”
“.......”
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
Ah, fuck. Seriously.
Just as I was about to quietly stand up, Kang Ichae slammed his right foot down on the table with a loud BANG!
Everything on it toppled over, blocking the path to the door.
That suffocating sense of déjà vu hit me; I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again.
He sat there with his arms crossed, leaning forward like some punk kid, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.
“Hey.”
......
......
.........Hey?
With that smiling face, Kang Ichae ground out each word slowly, one by one.
“Say it again. What did you just say?”
